D U S T [in the] W I N D

[Alexis Delaney]

This was not exactly what she had been expecting when she had woken up that morning. Of course, the only thing that she had really been expecting was to wake up and hunt down the damn werewolf that had only one day left on it full moon ticket. Werewolves were gray areas for some hunters, she knew, because half the time they were nothing more than humans living out their lives -- usually unaware that three days out of the month they had a major PMS meltdown and killed people. But the fact of the matter was, ignorant or not, they killed people. And that made them dead, at least when she got through with them . . . The day had gone fairly well and she thought she had her mark when all the information lead to one young man working bar in a shady club on a seedy side of town. Not her favorite place to be, really, but she had to stick it out until he finished his shift. Her patience won out and a few minutes past five in the evening she was following him out the door and down the sidewalk . . . until something pricked the side of her neck and the last thing she remembered was falling toward the ground and the sun going down steadily, one second at a time. The full moon was on the rise, and with it, a killer, and she was out cold. If she could have she would have cursed.

But she did curse when she came back around to what seemed to be an abandoned house of some sort, barely built. It seemed like someone had the idea that they wanted a two story just on the edge of the woods because it was too quiet out to be the city -- it had to be the woods at the edge of town. Anyway, this house -- it seemed that someone wanted it and then halfway through the building process decided to change their minds. It was only half-finished, skeletons of what would have been rooms outlined in timber and plaster but only a few full rooms finished. And it was one of these rooms that she came back around in, her hands shackled above her to a rather sturdy oak beam, her feet barely brushing against the ground as she dangled. Okay, so she would have cursed up a storm had she not been gagged but as it was, she did curse when a man came into view, whether he could tell that she was cussing him out she could not tell or care. He was good-looking, seemed to be early twenties, dressed in a white button down shirt and blue jeans, shorn locks of blonde hair dressing up a single pierced ear and startling blue eyes that nearly matched her own. She eyed him warily, watching as he came closer with a slow glide in his step. "So nice of you to come back around. It would hardly be any fun at all, I think, if you were to remain unconscious while I experimented." His voice was tenor and smooth, silken in a skin-crawling way.

She had no idea what he meant by experimenting nor any idea how to get the hell out of this mess, but he didn't leave her wondering for long. And a few hours later, as the minutes ticked closer to midnight, Alex hung limp in the chains holding her, blood running and flowing freely from the dozens of stab wounds and cuts, bruises and burns. He had gotten creative, he had, using the tools left in the house to "experiment" as he called it and really, it was just searching for a pain threshold. She was not dead yet, so he thought he had not broken her pain threshold yet because he had explained that the pain threshold was reached when the victim died. Apparently, he had done this sort of thing before. She looked down at her legs, hanging limp with screws meticulous implanted into the flesh in neat lines, and her hands, shackled though they were, bleeding from nails implanted by a nail gun and . . . Alex stopped thinking about the dozens of injuries as the door in front of her flew open, courtesy of quite a bit of force applied from the other side, and the man with the blonde hair and blue eyes and nail gun in his hand stopped, and turned, as though he had been waiting for this very thing.

[Tristan Michaels]

There was so much pressure on Tristan's shoulders. The angel felt as though he was falling apart. He was at the end of his rope, and being the independent soul that he was he could not ask for help. They were gone, all gone. He had failed each and every one of them. Michael, Chris, Sarah, Mark, Austin. They all met a horrible end. They were all Tristan's responsibility. He was supposed to keep them safe. By the time he realized what was happening it was too late. He was only late by a matter of minutes for the last one. A young bartender named Austin. He found her in the back of her bar, drenched in blood. It was too late for her though. He tried to save her, tried to heal her, but it was too late.

He held her in his arms as she took her last breath. She was the last charge he had, save one. Tristan knew then that he had to find her before he did. He could not lose her too. Tristan was not about to fail the last of his charges. He was not about to fail again. He knew the girl hated him, with the same kind of fiery passion that he hated her, but Tristan had no choice. He knew what he was up against, and he knew no matter how strong Alexis Delaney thought she was she could not handle this, not on her own, and he wasn't about to let her. Tristan was fueled with a kind of rage that was rare and deadly among his kind. Nothing was going to stop him. Now he just needed to find the bastard.

The lights in the house flickered, a strong wind blew through the unfinished building, tearing loose pieces of wood from their place. The door flew open without Tristan even laying a hand on it and a bright light filled the room for a moment. He stood in front of the man. For a moment his eyes did not even see Alex, they were fixed with rage on the man in front of her. A new body but it was still the same arrogant bastard. "Razael." His eyes found Alex. A new rage filled him. She lived still, or so he hoped. His eyes locked with the blonde man's. This was going to end. He was not going to let Alex down like the others.

[Alexis Delaney]

Okay, so Alex was not going to admit out loud -- mostly because she could not admit anything out loud -- how much pain she was in but she knew that she could not hide it from her eyes. That bastard had done a number on her and she knew that she maybe only had an hour left in her before she died, like all the others that he kept rattling on about the entire time. How this was revenge and how she had lasted so much longer than the others and he was going to have to kick it up a notch -- which made her wonder if he spent his free time watching too much Emeril. The only other thing she wondered was what could possibly hurt more than the pain she was already in at the moment. She could not move her legs because shifting them meant moving the screws that he had meticulously screwed into her flesh . . . Blood and death fell from her, she knew, and she also knew that much longer in his hands and she would die, too.

Alex lifted her head slightly to look toward the door as a force beyond reason or reckoning blew it open and there stood . . . the asshole. Alex blinked, thinking maybe she had started hallucinating, when Tristan strode into the room with hellfire and brimstone riding his heels -- at least it seemed like it because his anger was such. She had never seen that kind of rage in his eyes, granted she had only seen his eyes once, but still . . . He was pissed beyond reason. She looked toward the man he called Razael as he laughed, low and smooth, slowly putting down the nail gun and picking up a screwdriver. "Yes, Tristan, I do believe that is my name. You seem to lack good timing, hm? Well at least this time you're more or less on time -- for the finale, that is." And this must be the revenge part, Alex thought, because he had been talking about it the entire time in that low-key voice of his. Revenge.

She jerked as he moved with lightning fast speed, shoving the screwdriver into her flesh just above the hipbone, twisting it this way and that. "Not quite as spectacular as, say, slitting someone's throat but it does the job, don't you think, Tristan?" The man eyed the angel with a fixed stare as he jerked the screwdriver in deeper, if such a thing were possible. He turned, looking at the dagger on the table nearby. "Of couse, if you would be so kind as to hand me that, I could slit her throat. Put her out of her misery, so to speak." Razael laughed against, twisting the screwdriver one more time before he jerked it back out and aimed to shove it back in again.

[Tristan Michaels]

There was so much blood covering her. There were screws protruding from her flesh. He was worried about the fight ahead of him. Not so much the fight against Razael, but he feared he would use too much energy in fighting him, and wouldn't have the strength when they were done to heal her. He knew she would not last much longer. Deep down, Tristan feared he had been too late, just like the others. His eyes remained locked on Razael as he picked up the screwdriver. Tristan knew he had no time to get across the room to save her from this. All he could do was watch in horror and hope maybe that Alex would forgive him. That she would understand that there was no time.

He saw her body jerk around as Razael thrust the screwdriver into Alex's side. She did not cry out though. It forced a tiny smile onto Tristan's face. She was strong, Tristan knew that before, but it showed here. He was proud of her. Though he felt a kind of guilt that was almost unbearable. She was in this mess because of him. He had crossed a line, many centuries ago, and Tristan had been forced to put a stop to it. This was Tristan's fault. Razael was using his charges to get to Tristan. He brought this on her, and Tristan feared he would not be able to stop it.

Razael removed the screwdriver. Tristan's eyes followed Razael's to the knife. As Razael moved to put the screwdriver back into Alex's body Tristan reacted. He had not been prepared before, but now he was. Within a split second, like a flash, Tristan had taken a place between Razael and Alex. The screwdriver that was meant for Alex tore through Tristan's torso. The pain was horrible, but Tristan was strong. He grabbed Razael's wrist and pushed back. The other angel was lost his grip on the screwdriver and hit the ground. Tristan pulled it from his torso and dropped it on the floor. This is definitely going to make healing her difficult.

"Give it up Razael. What you did was wrong. You had to pay. You know you crossed a line." Tristan took a step forward and grabbed a hold of the collar of Razael's shirt, pulling him to his feet. "Its over Razael." Tristan was losing blood, but he knew he'd be fine. With his free hand he raised his fist and slammed it into Razael's face, once, twice, three times. Tristan let the anger flow out of him through his fist. He would pay dearly for what he had done. Innocent people had died at his hands. "We are meant to protect them. You killed them!" How it was that Razael had no fallen yet, Tristan was unsure. Though, as of late the chain of command had been a little off. Something was going on higher up in the ranks, but that was not important to him at the moment. Tristan grabbed the knife from the table. He was ready to kill.

[Alexis Delaney]

This was not chalking up to be a good night in the slightest and Alex would have been lying if she had tried to say that she felt great -- she felt like she was dying, honestly, but she struggled against the black hand of death. Her body felt like it was on fire, a thousand needles of agony lancing through her in one form or fashion as blood fell, fell, to the ground. She steeled herself as she saw the other man draw his hand back to plunge the screwdriver back in but before he could . . . Alex blinked, seeing the solid frame of Tristan standing in front of her, taking the blow that had been meant for her. She snarled through the gag, surprised that his being hurt on her account angered her so much but -- he was angel, and therefore, could not die, right? Still, it unsettled her to see him take the blow for her. And for some reason that she could not define -- she didn't want him hurt. At least, not like this . . . . Or maybe not at all. She wasn't sure.

She groaned through the gag as she attempted to keep her head up long enough to stay conscious and make sure Tristan didn't get himself killed -- not that there was much she could do about it and that infuriated her, really. There he was, throwing himself at a madman for her sake at the moment even though she knew from their words alone that this was an old feud and others had died before he had gotten his hands on her . . . So while not entirely about her, Alex knew that Tristan was fighting for her this time. And that made some kind of difference in the fact that she did not want him to get dead on her account anytime soon. But there was nothing she could do but hang there and try not to die on him like the others had . . . and that was something she swore not to do. Even as she swore that she watched as Tristan railed into Razael, knocking the other angel to the ground as Tristan claimed the knife that had already been used against her skin more than once that night.

"Who are you to judge, Tristan? The things you've done down here, out of the watchful eye . . . Those above think they know so much but they don't. They don't watch -- they don't care. You could slaughter children down here, Tristan, and they would never call you on it, never give a damn . . . " Razael spat, laughing while he stood up to face the other man. Blue eyes glanced at Tristan first then Alex behind him, scornful and hateful at once. But this night he was not willing to die and he would be back to settle his score. "As many lines as you have crossed, hypocrite . . . Not tonight. No, tonight you will remember what failure is and know this, Tristan. Every charge, every person you care about -- I will find them and I will leave them in their own blood. Should those up above see fit to give you another charge . . . Each hand you touch, each person in your life -- they will all fall down in their own blood. Just like she did. Count on that." And then he was gone, his more-than-a-threat hanging in the air like a slap in the face. Alex was too drained to think much on it, to know that he would be back for her, for anyone in Tristan's life at all . . . She shifted her gaze to the angel for a moment before she lost the strength to keep holding her head up.

[Tristan Michaels]

For the moment the threat had gone. Tristan glanced down and saw the blood staining the deep blue t-shirt he wore under his black leather jacket. Tristan put his hand to the wound and made his way back to Alex after Razael left. He was about to unshackle her wrists, but he knew he had to remove the screws first. Tristan worked carefully, trying his best to cause her as little pain as he could. He knew it would hurt though. Once he had removed the screws he took the shackles off her wrists and caught her body as she fell. "Alex," he whispered, hoping that she was still alive. He saw her chest rising and falling. She was still alive. Tristan set her down gently on the ground, holding her up against him, removing the gag that kept her from speaking.

"It'll be okay, Alex. You're gonna be okay." He knew he didn't have enough strength to heal her and himself. That did not matter to him though. He was not about to hold her as she died like he had with Austin. He brushed her hair out of her face and looked down at her, smiling slightly. "Just hold on, you're gonna be okay. I promise." With one hand he took hers and held it tight. The other he placed on her shoulder. Tristan could feel his strength fading quickly. She was hurt badly, laying on death's doorstep. He knew this would be difficult, but he had no been ready for the strength it would take to heal her.

As Tristan grew weaker he knew she grew stronger. That was all that mattered. He watched her many wounds heal. Tristan held her until he could no longer spare the energy. The human body he had inhabited for centuries was weak. Sure it had happened many times before, but he had always healed himself. Now, as Tristan's hand slipped from Alex's and he fell to the floor, he lacked the energy to heal the wound his human body has suffered. The room around him began to blur. He only hoped he had healed her enough so she could survive. Tristan, as an angel, knew he would be fine. He could not be killed. But after several centuries in the same body, he did not particularly want to lose his human vessel.

[Alexis Delaney]

Alex could barely wrap her head around what the other guy had said when he left and she was fairly certain that the floor was tilting out from underneath her in a very odd and nausea inducing manner. Truth was, she was so far gone that she barely felt Tristan's hands removing the screws that Razael had so carefully placed into her but she did feel her descent into his arms as the shackles came free from around her wrists. She fell but not to the ground as the angel that had once tried to kill her instead -- saved her? Well that was a new one . . . She landed in his grip and he lowered them both, deft fingers pulling out the gag and even with it gone she could not manage a wise-ass remark . . . Not that she had one waiting in the wings, either. He had done nothing wrong this time around and had, instead, saved her ass when he perhaps did not have to. She remembered him taking the screwdriver that might have killed her and now her own blue eyes focused briefly on his iced orbs as he spoke, telling her that she was going to be okay and that he promised and all that jazz.

A second later his hand was in her own and she found, to her shock, that instead of jerking away from his touch or leaving her hand slack in his, her fingers curled ever-so-slightly around his own as warmth rushed into her body . . . from him. She groaned as she felt the heat swarming through her, pulling her wounds shut, giving her life back, and then the heat from him was gone in more ways than one. She felt him tilt and hit the ground and it took a moment for her head to get back on straight, for her to realize that she was not dying -- and the angel had saved her life. Alex groaned and pushed herself up, still covered in blood but no wounds to show for it. She wanted to remind Tristan that she would have healed on her own soon, would have been fine if left alone for a few minutes but . . . Instead she pushed herself to her knees and moved over to him quickly. Possessed of some strange emotion that closely resembled concern, Alex knelt down next to his body and pressed her hand over his wound carefully -- the one he had taken for her.

"You didn't have to . . . Christ, Tristan. I would have healed, y'know, eventually. But . . . You . . . " She stopped trying to find any words and instead settled for action, something that she was good at. She reached down and ripped a strip of shirt off from her already torn top, lifting the hem of his shirt to apply pressure with the piece of cloth. Her arm lifted his upper body off the ground and into her own arms, much the same as he had done for her moments ago. her demonic strength holding the cloth in place to stem the blood flow from the wound as she considered options. How quickly would he heal on his own? Would that asshole other guy come back anytime soon? She didn't have enough information to form a viable plan and so, instead, just sat there with him in her arms and her wanting to shift between hugging him and throttling him. "Pretty sure we hated each other . . . Maybe still do, I don't know -- look at us now. Who was that guy?" She finally settled on asking the obvious question, not realizing that her arm holding him up was using the hand to run her fingers through his locks of thick brown hair gently, reassuringly, and if she had realized it then she might have dropped his frame and ran for the hills just for having anything close to emotion at all.

[Tristan Michaels]

He was tired, and weak. Tristan had only felt this once or twice in his life. He only needed time. Time to regain his energy. All he could do was hope that his human vessel would hold out long enough for him to heal the body. He had faith in the young man he had taken as a host for his angelic form so many years ago. The body had been through a lot and the boy he inhabited was strong. Tristan only hoped the body was strong enough. The young man's soul had long since passed from the body, leaving Tristan as the only entity inhabiting it. He had never felt so vulnerable. Is this what it's like to be human? The feeling terrified him and fascinated him.

Tristan's blue eyes opened slowly when he felt pressure placed on his wound. He looked up in time to see Alex pick his body up in her arms, the way he had with her. He had never truly relied on anyone like this before. It was a strange feeling for him. Tristan was always very independent. He let his head rest against her and closed his eyes for a moment. Her voice came and went. He vaguely heard her mutter something about how he didn't have to do this. True, he probably didn't. He forgot that Alex was different from others put in his charge. He had gotten caught up in emotions, in worrying. She was laying, bloody, so close to death and all Tristan could think was that he had to save her.

His blue eyes drifted shut once more, trying to remain still, to regain his energy. He felt her fingers running through his hair. A soothing feeling came from her. I thought I hated you too. He forced his eyes to open when she asked who had attacked her. "His name is... Razael," Tristan whispered weakly. "He's..." he paused and coughed, a bit of blood flowed from the corner of his mouth. The man's skin was pale. Tristan had faith though, that the body would survive long enough for him to heal it. "He's an angel. Its a... its a long story." His history with Razael was complicated. Part of him understood why Razael would be angry, but what he was doing... he had gone too far.

[Alexis Delaney]

This was a bit out of Alex's league for the most part considering that she did not often have to stick around to nurse people back to health nor did she ever care enough to . . . Oh, sure, she occasionally dragged the bleeding victim to the hospital or called 911 for someone that had gotten in over their head with things that went bump in the night but she had never stuck around to help them out herself unless absolutely necessary. And she was not sure that sticking around Tristan qualified as absolutely necessary . . . She was sure that he was going to be able to bounce back all by himself, without her sticking around and doing . . . whatever it was that she was doing. She was not sure what she was doing, other than holding him in her arms and keeping pressure on the stab wound that had been meant for her. Normally she would have been out the door by now . . .

Another angel. Alex felt her brow pull into a scowl at the notion that another angel was running around killing people and how were you supposed to defeat a force like that? Something that probably could not die -- at least not by easy or conventional methods. She had never been in the business to wonder how to kill an angel considering she had never thought that they existed before this. Alex had long ago given up her faith in anything resembling God or his angels . . . She wanted to believe that Sarah and Allison had gone to a better place but she could not believe in a God that would have let them both die -- along with her mother and father and countless friends and allies. What was the point of fighting for the good side if the good side never fought back for you? But Tristan had . . . The last person she would have thought might come to her rescue had blown open the door and rushed in just like that, even though he supposedly hated her guts and the very ground she walked on.

"We've got time, I think," Alex said quietly, to his last words, pulling her hand from his hair. She knew that if they stayed there then they were vulnerable to that asshole coming back . . . Alex looked around the area, biting into her lower lip as she considered the severe lack of options that she had. Her car was back in town somewhere and something told her that Tristan had not brought four wheels with him when he had swooped in to save the day. Cursing under her breath, Alexis applied more pressure to the wound on his stomach and hated this feeling -- because it was nothing more than feeling helpless to do anything at all. And that was not something that she was used to, not at all. "Look, we can't stay here, Tristan . . . Is there anything at all I can do to get your ass moving again?" She grated, trying to sound as gentle as she could manage considering that this was not her usual gig and she felt out of her element.

[Tristan Michaels]

Tristan laughed, and searing pain shot through his body. Normally angels were very capable of hiding their pain. Hiding the pain they felt when their human vessels were injured, but Tristan was too weak at the moment to even care. As he laughed he cried out and shut his eyes tightly. "Fair point," he coughed. They did have time, but Tristan didn't want to tell the story. It was complicated, and brought up memories he didn't care to think about. "Its not a story I'd care to tell," he whispered. Tristan could almost sense her nervousness. Her fingers stopped running through his hair. She was scared, he understood.

"I'm sorry," Tristan whispered softly. He was unsure if she was even able to hear him. I'm so sorry I brought this on you Alex. She spoke, she must not have heard him. Alex was right, Tristan knew that. They could not stay there, they were too easy a target sitting there. Tristan knew he had to get her out of there. He had to keep her safe. Tristan closed his eyes for a moment. He was able to slow the bleeding in the wound. Slowly the angel sat up, wincing as he did. He pushed himself to his knees but standing to his feet was a little more difficult. Tristan's raised his eyes to meet Alex's. "I hope-" he stopped and coughed, doubling over for a moment.

Once the coughing fit ceased he looked back to Alex. "I hope you don't think this means I like you," he said with a small laugh. He certainly didn't hate her. Which he had only a few days earlier. Tristan didn't understand it. He was sure it had nothing to do with the fact that she was his charge. It was something different. She was something different. She fought him. She constantly disagreed with him. Most of his charges befriended him. Most had no idea he was even an angel to begin with. She was different, but he had known that since the day he met her.

He wanted to tell her, but now was not the time. If he told her he came because she was his charge she wouldn't understand. All she would hear was that he showed up because it was his job. Because he had no choice. That was not true though. He had genuinely wanted to save her. She would not understand that, and Tristan needed someone. At least for the time being. He needed to rely on someone else until he was strong enough to heal the body he was in. He didn't want her getting angry and storming off just to leave him there. Tristan took a deep breath and forced himself to his feet.

[Alexis Delaney]

Alex knew that sitting around here was a bad idea even if she didn't really think that Razael was going to be back tonight. He had promised that he would be back, however, and she was fairly certain that she was going to be doing research on how to kill an angel because she figured since she hadn't died the first time around -- he would be back to finish the job. That thought did not really sit well with her considering that she liked herself alive just fine, thanks. There had been times in the past where she'd had a death wish and maybe part of her still did because living in the sense that she was still breathing was hard. She had not truly lived since Sarah had died, had not really felt anything in the way of emotion at all as far as most things went. Her desire to help Tristan since he had helped her -- and her anger with him that first encounter were the first things she had felt in a long time . . . and that fact was not lost on her. It seemed the only time she could feel anything at all was when he was around . . . .

Alex sat back as he moved to stand, the effort obviously costing him somewhat as he doubled over with pain. She felt badly for that considering she could have taken the blade he had and probably still lived . . . maybe . . . but it was better than him taking it. Not a story that he wanted to tell . . . Well, hells bells, that was a story he would eventually have to tell because she wanted to know why she'd been pinned up and tortured by a crazy angel. Alex pushed herself to her feet right after he did, looking him over before pressing her lips together and shaking her head. "Wouldn't dream of it, pretty boy," She managed, keeping up with his attempt to lighten the mood. No, he probably still hated her -- or would pretend like he did -- because it was easier that way than to feel anything else . . . and he was an angel and she was a half-demon and that meant they were supposed to hate each other, right?

"Look . . . Not that I don't appreciate your sudden appearance but . . . " She was trying to be careful and not harsh with him at the moment, although she had no idea why. But it was bothering her that she had no idea why she had been chosen in relation to vengeance. "Look, thing is, Razael kept going on about vengeance and, last I checked, you and I didn't have any fuzzy feelings for each other so why in the blue hell would he decide to string me up to get at you?" She grated out the last words, looking sidelong at him as she considered how in the hell they were supposed to get out of here. "And while we're on the topic of major questions -- how do you suggest we get back to town?" Walk, more than likely, not that she or he were entirely up for that hike considering his condition and her state of exhaustion.

[Tristan Michaels]

Angels never really felt emotion. Though most angels had been separated from humanity for thousands of years. They had no understanding of human emotions. That was not the case with Tristan. There were a few, only a handful that had remained on Earth watching over certain people for thousands of years. Tristan was one of them. He understood human emotions, even if he rarely felt them himself. It was the moments when he felt those emotions that confused him. He felt anger at the deaths of the other charges. That anger was out of a sense of failure. Angels were always plagued by that. By a sense that they were somehow not good enough. That did not confuse him.

It was the fuming anger that he felt as soon as he saw Alex strung up with screws sticking out of her flesh, and blood dripping from her wounds. That was the emotion that confused him. He could not figure out what he had not felt so angry until that moment. He knew she was still alive. He got there in time and he knew he would save her. But the thought that Razael had hurt Alex angered him beyond anything he had felt in a very long time. He didn't understand it, and part of him never wanted to. It terrified him. Feeling those kinds of emotions meant he was one step closer to falling. To having his wings torn from him and hurled toward the Earth.

As he stood his head spun. The fact that Alex was asking him a dozen questions did not help things. "Slow down there tiger." he said with a cough. Tristan leaned forward for a moment, putting his hands on his legs. He took a couple deep breaths before he stood straight again. "One question at a time, sweetheart." He had no choice. She deserved to know the truth anyway. "Apparently," his voice was still strained, " the powers that be thought it would be funny to put you in my charge." Tristan sighed. He really did not want to fight about that at the moment.

"That's why Razael went after you. Because you're one of my charges." A deep sense of sorrow filled Tristan's blue eyes. "I... I was too... too late to save the others. You're lucky I got to you in time." Tristan took a deep breath and sighed. "And as far as getting back to town. I guess we'll have to do things the hard way, and walk." Tristan very much doubted that he had enough energy to actually walk all the way back to town, but what other choice did they have.

[Alexis Delaney]

Alex wiped her bloody hands off on her already bloody jeans then realized that such a thing was not doing much good at all. Instead she turned and faced Tristan, watching as he doubled over again, her blue eyes narrowing in concern. And there was another emotion that she was unfamiliar with -- concern. The last time that she had been concerned about anyone had been when Sarah was still alive and that seemed a lifetime ago. It made no sense that she would be concerned about the man that had originally tried to kill her in a back alley behind a bar but there it was. Even though she knew, logically, that he would be just fine in the long run . . . or at least, she hoped. She was fairly certain that an angel could not die, not really . . . Which made her wonder how in the hell she was going to defend herself against Razael . . ..and reminded her that she had to look into it.

Alex was about to head out the door when he spoke again, stopping her in her tracks for a moment. She was one of his charges? It took her head a moment to wrap around and understand it . . . charge. Which meant that he was supposed to . . . what? Look out for her, keep her alive? She stared fixedly at the sawdust on the floor, her jaw clenched for a moment as she considered the implication. Of course now that the apocalypse was well on its way to beating them all to the ground, she supposed it made sense that the hunters in the game had some help. Of course, where was that help when she had lost everything that had given her a reason to live and breathe? Alex raked her hands back through tangled locks of hair as she breathed out, thinking. The only thing that she could not wrap her head around was -- surely there were better hunters out there.

"Why me?" Alex finally asked, turning back around and making her way over to Tristan. She slung his arm over her shoulder and helped support his weight as she moved them out of the house. Walking, right. Of course they had to walk -- at least until she found a car to borrow. "Okay so the world is about to end and the hunters gotta stay kickin' . . . but there are better hunters out there a little more worthy than me. So why me?" She shifted his weight as she put the house behind them, wishing to hell that her car was in sight but it was in town. Alex minded the fact that he could not process very much until he started healing -- which really needed to kick in soon because her exhaustion level was creeping up to the point where she wanted to drop to the ground.

[Tristan Michaels]

Tristan wanted to push her away when she returned to help him. He hated relying on others. The last time Tristan had let himself rely on someone it had ended badly. However he was having trouble standing, and walking was out of the question without some kind of help. He let her put his arm over her shoulder and leaned against her as they walked. Now and then his vision blurred and he winced in pain, but he did his best to ignore it. She was asking strange questions. Tristan was expecting a fight. Tristan was expecting her to tell him to stay the hell away from her, to say she did not need any help.

Instead she asked why. That was one of the things that baffled him about humans. They were held so high in God's opinion, yet they thought so little of themselves. They constantly asked why they would be deserving of anything. Why was Tristan put in charge of Alex? Maybe they felt that Tristan was the only one right for the job. That Tristan was the only one capable of properly keeping Alex safe. How he could keep her safe when he couldn't even keep a simple bartender from getting killed was beyond him.

"I don't know why, Alex," he answered simply. It was the truth as well. Tristan had no real idea why he had been put in charge of Alex. "We don't get told why we have the charges we have," he said with a laugh. It was more of a bitter laugh. "We don't really get told much of anything." That was probably something he shouldn't have mentioned to her. Tristan glanced over at her and laughed. He was able to heal his wound now just enough to stop the bleeding completely, and he stood a little straighter. "I'm sorry I brought this on you Alex." There was genuine remorse in his voice. Tristan had never wanted anything like this to happen to any of his charges, least of all Alex.

[Alexis Delaney]

It was no secret that she thought very little of herself as a person . . . She had been worth it when Sarah and Allison had been around but after their deaths, Alex knew that she had become barely more than human. She had done things that she was not proud of, things that no person should have to do. She had shot a thirteen year old in the heart with a silver bullet when she had found out that he was the werewolf terrorizing a small town. That topped her list of things that made her feel less than human and yet, somehow, the God that she didn't believe in saw fit to make sure that she stayed alive through this bullshit? Alex let loose a bitter laugh that rivaled Tristan's own as she helped him down the street, thinking that they must look a damn sight at the moment -- both of them bloody and her clothes shredded.

"Well that's a comfort, you not having a clue." She finally said, keeping an easy pace for both of them. She said nothing for a moment, keeping her thoughts to herself as she struggled to maintain civility with him, at least. "You know the funny thing? I don't even believe in God . . . hell, didn't believe in angels until you were standing in front of me and even you . . . even knowing you exist doesn't make me believe in God. I gave up on that a long time ago. Gotta take care of yourself because no way in hell some higher power is gonna do it for you." She said after awhile, her voice grating with pain and annoyance on the topic at hand. And she firmly believed that. God could not have cared what went on down here or so many people would not have died . . . lives that did not need to be lost, people that deserved to live far more than she did . . . Alex clenched her jaw as they made their way towards town, the going slow enough to make her want to call it quits and camp out on the side of the road.

She looked askew at him as he told her he was sorry for getting her into this, then shook her head with a slight laugh behind it. "I get myself into plenty of trouble. But . . . exactly what have you gotten me into? We got a long walk, pretty boy. Might as well spill the beans on your painful tale of why in the hell this guy's got such a yen to hurt you." She kept her gaze straight ahead, knowing that she was demanding the answer to a painful topic but she figured if she was gonna not put up a fight on letting him stick around for the moment . . . and if this angel was gonna be back for seconds . . . she ought to know why, at least. She released him a bit as he straightened but did not let go all the way, halfway afraid that he would face plant on the ground if she did. Why she gave a damn was beyond her and she was sure that sooner or later the old feelings of wanting to beat him to death would come back but for the moment . . . Alex just kept on walking.